


Count The Stars

by the_seaworthy_muffin



Series: Merthur Week 2020 Prompt Fills [7]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Picnics, Stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28361595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_seaworthy_muffin/pseuds/the_seaworthy_muffin
Summary: Merlin had imagined, in thorough detail, how Arthur might find out about his magic. Some days, it was the Bandits. Some days, it was the Mistake. And many more. Oh, so many more. They blend into each other, day after night, until sometimes Merlin wakes gasping from a daydream while polishing Arthur’s vambraces, until Merlin isn’t sure what’s real and what’s not and if he hasn’t really been executed all those months ago anymore.Reality goes a little bit like this:Merlin and Arthur, on top of the hill, under the stars, talking.It’s a picnic, just the two of them.*Written for Merthur Week Day 7: Free Day + Magic Reveal.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merthur Week 2020 Prompt Fills [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066679
Comments: 6
Kudos: 127
Collections: Merthur Week 2020





	Count The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> And this is the last! Merthur Week 2020 was the first fandom event I have ever participated in next to writing fanfiction, and it has been wonderful. Thanks to the mods, who made all this possible, and all the wonderful people on tumblr&AO3 who have taken the time to create so many beautiful things! Mine had been an unplanned participation, and I think it's the most I've ever written in a week. :> But, again, it was amazing. Now that I can officially take a break from my writing spree I think I'll be able to kick back and enjoy all the wonderful things everyone's created......  
> This one is more soft&tender than anything else. Hope you all enjoy the ending to my series of prompts :)  
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

Merlin had imagined, in thorough detail, how Arthur might find out about his magic. Some days, it was the Bandits. The Bandit story went a little bit like this: Merlin and Arthur would have been out hunting in the forest, just the two of them, because heavens know that Arthur really is that daft. And then bandits would swarm out of the trees, and Arthur would fight valiantly but somehow end up losing his sword, and he would put on that stoic, noble expression that only seemed to shine out when they were both about to die. But Merlin would stand up, and maybe call lightning from the sky, or maybe do some old-fashioned blasting, and Arthur would be safe, and he would pull Merlin into a hug and kiss the top of his head.

Those were the best days. But some days, it was the Mistake, and those were the days Merlin would start awake with a gasp bitten off in his throat. Merlin behind the trees, hand outstretched to help in whatever unobtrusive way he could, as always- then a wrong strike, the tiniest lapse in his concentration, and a knight would be down, Arthur’s eyes wide and betrayed and freezing-cold, as strong hands grip Merlin and drag him off to the pyre.

And many more. Oh, so many more. They blend into each other, day after night, until sometimes Merlin wakes gasping from a daydream while polishing Arthur’s vambraces, until Merlin isn’t sure what’s real and what’s not and if he hasn’t really been executed all those months ago anymore.

The fateful day rolls about, slow, lazy, inevitable. And it really goes a little bit like this:

Merlin and Arthur, on top of the hill, under the stars, talking.

★

It’s a picnic, just the two of them.

The night sky glitters like dark velvet sprinkled with adamant above them, satiny blues and purples and blacks fading into each other like so many spools of thread. A slight breeze carries the scent of heather and anemone, daisies and hyacinths over towards them, mixing deliciously with the scent of fresh breads and sweet-meats Merlin has nicked from the kitchen. Arthur had insisted that no-one accompany them, and it’s quiet and companionable for all the silence- the closest thing Merlin could think of to perfect, and Merlin hates it too, because it’s moments like these that make him so, so terribly confused.

Of course Arthur has his bad days. Those are easy- Arthur yells and grouses and throws things, and beats training dummies black and blue on the practice field, and rolls into bed in his boots and grouses like no-one’s business when Merlin tries to help him out of them. Then Merlin can grumble about _him_ in peace, in turn, commiserating with Gwen about him- yes, of course Arthur’s a prat; heaven knows why Merlin sticks around anyway.

But some days, days like today, Arthur reels Merlin in with soft fleeting smiles and half-hearted touches, with easy camaraderie and quiet, steady company. These are his thoughtful days, and Merlin sees in him the king he is destined to be and more. And Merlin loves and hates these days in equal measure, because there is only so much Merlin’s heart can take before it tears itself apart- and then who will be left to take care of Arthur?

Unfair. Unfair, how Arthur can taunt Merlin with promises of things that can never be, without once being aware of what exactly it is he is doing.

The starlight crowns Arthur’s golden head in light, shining pale and luminescent against the dulled background of pale yellow. Merlin hands Arthur another chunk of bread, and they sit pressed side-by-side, watching the lights go out one by one as the people of Lower Town take themselves to bed.

“My kingdom,” Arthur says, voice quiet and reverent. And it is; because Uther has announced that he would be stepping down the very next day, that he knows well enough to leave while the choice is still his. Merlin had not missed the desperate, hopeful glint in Morgana’s eyes, and he isn’t foolish enough to deny the hope that had sparked in his heart, either.

_Two sides of the same coin, side-by-side……_

“Yes. It is.”

Arthur hums, chewing his hunk of bread thoughtfully. Merlin wordlessly hands him the water-skin. Two gulps.

Merlin watches the pale curve of Arthur’s throat, the motion as he swallows, almost as if one entranced.

“Merlin.”

“Yes?”

“I want to build a kingdom different from my father’s.”

“Uther was- a strong king,” Merlin ventures, because that is the extent of the praise he dare rest upon the Tyrant King. Arthur scoffs.

“But he was wrong in some matters as he was right in others, I know.” A pause, “I would not spill the blood of innocents upon our stones.”

Merlin’s heart gives a giant jolt in his ribcage. Blood rushes breakneck through his veins, and Merlin turns towards Arthur, eyes widening.

Does he suspect-

Magic-

The blood of _innocents_ -

And then he can’t simply hold it into himself anymore.

“I have magic, Arthur,” he blurts.

Silence. The darkness renders Arthur’s expression nigh-unreadable, and daring, hoping, _wishing_ , with his very being, Merlin calls forth a golden dragon on his palm. The Pendragon crest, given new life through magic. The dragon spins a few times on Merlin’s palm, making itself comfortable, then stretches itself out to nuzzle Arthur’s nose.

The light from the dragon throws Arthur’s face into shadow. A tentative finger comes up to brush against the dragon’s flank, sending stray sparks fizzing in its wake.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks, over the pounding of his heart. Please, don’t let it be the Mistake. The Bandits, the Wyverns, any one of his idiotic imaginings but the Mistake.

“Then you shall have to help me build it,” Arthur states.

Merlin scrambles desperately for an answer that isn’t a brain-fuddled grunt. “It?”

Arthur’s hand comes up to cup his, warm and tingling-hot against his own. Stronger, larger, calluses brushing rough across the soft swathes of Merlin’s skin. The hands of a warrior. A defender. His king.

Slowly, very slowly, a smile spreads across Arthur’s face. It is small. Barely there. But it is one of the most genuine ones that Merlin has ever seen.

“Don’t be daft, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur chides. “Our kingdom, of course. Please tell me you were listening to what I was trying to say?”

“But.” Merlin gapes, trying to catch up with how things are turning out. He finds it quite hard to believe that there could possibly be a better scenario then the Bandits. That it is really happening to him, here, now, even more so. “You’re not- angry? Afraid of me?”

Arthur scowls, the familiar thunderous expression spreading across lowered brows. “I’ll be afraid of you when I manage to make myself terrified of little mice and daffodils,” he snaps. “And you haven’t even answered yet. Must you always be such a- _dollop-head_?”

Arthur’s familiar scowl, his use of Merlin’s ridiculous made-up insult, is more than enough to jolt Merlin out of his stunned stupor. He can feel a giant smile inching across his face. It’s inordinately wide and ugly and probably makes him look like a demented fool, but _oh_ , Merlin doesn’t mind whatsoever.

“Of course, sire,” Merlin says, meaning every word of it. “You’ll have me. _Always_.”

Merlin has never meant a set of words more in his entire life.

**[The End]**


End file.
